


Fighting the Urge to Run

by JustAWinchesterGirl



Series: SPN/Reader Oneshots [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, and a little angst, honestly there's not warnings for this it's just super fluffy goodness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:56:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6121711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAWinchesterGirl/pseuds/JustAWinchesterGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted by a dialogue prompt I saw on tumblr.<br/>When you find yourself in the Winchesters' lives, you begin to think Sam doesn't really like you. When Sam gets hurt on a hunt and you have to stitch him up, he makes you realize it may in fact be the opposite.<br/>Basically PWP. And Fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fighting the Urge to Run

You’d been hunting your entire life. You’d _thought_ you knew a thing or two about hunting, about demons. That was before you met the Winchesters. Whatever they were dealing with- that was a whole new shitstorm you’d never asked to be a part of.

You’d met them on a job. Honestly, you were glad to have the help because you had **no** idea what was going on. Plus, they were both _very_ cute. When they’d filled you in and told you _angels_ were involved, you thought they were off their rockers. Then you’d met one. Everything about their life told you to run screaming in the opposite direction, but somehow you couldn’t. You had this odd urge to step the fuck up and show them what you were made of, so even though Dean gave you _plenty_ of outs, you went in with them when it came down to it.

You’d gotten hurt. Bad. That’s how- after a few days in the hospital- you’d ended up back at the bunker. Once you could move around properly without hurting yourself- you geeked right out. You had known you were in over your head, but **damn** , this whole Men of Letters thing was _so cool_!

“Y/N, what are you doing out of bed?” the younger brother looked at you with concern in his eyes.

“I had to get up. I’ve had enough of bed,” you told him, “This place is so cool! And so huge!”

He laughed at your wide eyes and smile, “Yeah, I about did the same thing when we found it.”

“Your life is ridiculous,” you muttered, looking around the huge library for more stuff.

“Tell me about it,” Sam said, smiling a little, not looking at you.

Sam seemed like a nervous person, and you wondered if it was this life that had done it, or if he was just uncomfortable with you. Dean seemed to like you well enough. Dean had wasted no time at all in flirting with you. You weren’t sure if he was actually into you, or if the cocky flirting was just second nature to him. The older Winchester was **definitely** good looking. You could easily imagine yourself under him… in the back seat of that sexy car of his. But something told you he wasn’t exactly a long-term kind of guy, and honestly, after a couple of bad experiences, hook-ups just weren’t your scene anymore.

Not that you planned on sticking around. As soon as you were healed you were out of here- ready to leave angels, prophets, Men of Letters, and the Winchesters far behind you.

That’d been three months ago.

Somehow you ended up actually caring about these men. You’d stayed to finish up the case they’d met you on… and never left.

Now, you had your own room at the bunker, your own claimed seat in Dean’s car, a shelf in the fridge. You hadn’t noticed when you’d officially moved in- but it seemed like you were a part of the family now. A part of all of it. And all of it meant angels and demons, Cas, Kevin, Sam and Dean.

Dean’s flirting had cooled down to just casual and friendly after it became apparent that you had no intention of hooking up with him. Sam had opened up a bit more around you in the last couple months, but it was still very awkward. He never quite met your eyes, he was fidgety, and he didn’t talk about much outside of the job. You thought maybe you moving in hadn’t really been okay with him. You had no idea if Cas liked you or not because the angel was impossible to read, and Kevin… well, you weren’t even sure Kevin had lifted his nose from the tablet and his notes for long enough to realize you were there.

Now, you’re on a case, and Sam is hurt. It’s nothing too bad, but it’s deep, a long gash from his shoulder across his chest to just under the opposite nipple, and you insist on sewing it up. He argues, not meeting your eyes as he tells you that it’s fine, he’s had worse, it’ll heal. You don’t take no for an answer.

“Look, I know you don’t like me, Sam, but Dean’s gone to wrap things up with the cops and that’s gonna get infected if you don’t let me at least wash it out,” you say, crossing your arms and glaring at him.

He meets your eyes and you think it might be the first time he’d done it since you met. Your breath catches in your throat as those big hazel eyes catch yours and start to look hurt, “Why do you think I don’t like you?”

“Are you kidding me?” you ask, “You don’t talk to me, Sam, you barely even look at me.”

“Oh,” he says quietly, and then shrugs, “Well, I like you.”

“Well… okay,” you say, not sure what else to say in this incredibly awkward situation, “Are you gonna let me patch you up, or what?”

It’s awkward and silent as you set to work washing out his wound, flushing it with warm water and gently dabbing a cloth along the outside of the wound. You sanitize it with alcohol- which makes Sam suck in a breath sharply in pain.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

He nods, jaw clenched, eyes closed.

“Okay,” you grab the needle and stitches (actual stitches, and not dental floss because you were prepared, and not an idiot), and frown, “I…umm… I have to… Sorry,” you crawl into his lap, straddling him so that you can have better access to his chest. You’re pretty sure you are bright red now your face is so hot. It’s not like Sam is unattractive. Actually, when he’d peeled his blood soaked shirt off to get a better look at the wound, you’d had a hard time keeping your eyes from wandering his bare torso. You’d kept your face stoic- feigning your interest in his body as purely professional- but it was anything but.

Sam is fidgeting again as you set to work sewing up the wound, which is both jostling your fingers, making it hard for you to work, and causing some uncomfortable friction against your core as his leg jiggles under you.

“Sam,” you say, frustrated, “You have to stop fidgeting.”

“Sorry,” he breathes, colour rushing to his cheeks to almost match yours, “It’s hard to stay still when you’re around.”

Your breath catches and you hope he doesn’t notice the way your voice shakes as you try to play it cool and say, “Are you fighting the urge to run, or the urge to sweep me off my feet?”

He chuckles low in his throat, “Depends on the day.”

You freeze, “Sam…”

He looks at you, those brown eyes boring into yours again and he looks… scared, “Y/N,” he says, “I’m sorry I made you think I don’t like you. It’s the exact opposite, actually.”

“Sam…” you breathe again.

“It’s hard, in this life, to have attachments. And a lot of people I’ve cared about have gotten hurt… or I’ve had to leave them behind. I didn’t want to start anything I couldn’t finish, I guess,” he tells you, “I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N. And I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“I get it, Sam,” you say quietly, “I’m a hunter, too, I’ve lost people. I’ve left people. I understand.”

He nods, “I know you do, Y/N… this terrifies me. So many of my past relationships have ended in death. I don’t want… I can’t lose someone like that again. I can’t lose you.”

“People die, Sam,” you tell him realistically, “I know our chances are a little worse off than most people’s but, it’s a fact of life. People die, and everyone has to deal with that. I’m not going to lie and tell you that if we started something between us it wouldn’t end in death. It’s a possibility we both have to accept. But Sam… fear isn’t a good reason not to try.”

He sighs and leans his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he thinks.

“All done,” you whisper, securing his stitches and setting the needle aside. You cup his face in one hand, making him tilt his head back to look at you, “So what’s it gonna be, Sam?” you ask quietly, running your thumb across his bottom lip and leaning in closer to him, putting weight down on his cock through his jeans and smiling when he gasps a little in response, “Are you gonna run? Or sweep me off my feet?”

His hand finds the back of your head in a split second and his lips crash against yours. The kiss is hot, and fierce, and desperate- like he’s been holding it back for ages, which you guess might be true. Your hands twine around the back of his neck, fingers threading in his hair. One of his hands is still in your hair, the other on the small of your back as he grinds his slowly growing arousal up into you. It takes you by surprise when he grips your hips tightly to him and stands, lifting you off the chair and carrying you over to the motel room bed, lying you on your back and crawling over you. He nips playfully at your lower lip as he backs away from you and you protest. He smiles and pulls up the hem of your shirt, a questioning look in his eyes. You nod, and lift your arms so he can remove the article of clothing. Then he’s on you again, his lips capturing yours roughly, his hands exploring your bare torso, one snaking up under your bra before deciding he wants that off too. You smile and comply, going so far as to kick your jeans off before you have to stop for those as well. He eyes your body in approval, his arousal evident against his jeans.

“Your turn,” you mutter against his lips, tugging at the zipper of his jeans. He pushes both his jeans and boxers down and off, and you groan at the sight of him, reaching out to pull him back on top of you.

He takes his time, kissing his way down your neck, and torso, before hooking his thumbs in your panties at the hips and pulling them slowly down your thighs to reveal your dripping center. He moans and runs his hands slowly up your thighs, following them with kisses.

“Sam!” you gasp out a plea, and he laughs softly before pushing two fingers in you slowly.

“God, Y/N,” he groans, leaning up to kiss you again. You push yourself down onto his fingers, hips wiggling in your desire to get more friction, more full, more _Sam_.

“Sam,” you moan, pulling his lips back to yours. He’s smiling under your kiss and his hand thrusts in and out of you slowly, “Please,” you breathe.

“What do you need, Y/N?” he asks, nipping at your lip, his voice low and thick with lust.

“You, Sam,” you moan, “Need you inside me.”

“Oh, god,” he groans, pulling his hand from you and kneeling in between your legs, the head of his thick cock pressed against your entrance. His eyes search yours for any hint of hesitation or second thoughts, “Ready?” he asks you.

“Sweep me off my feet, Sam,” you breathe, and he pushes into you quickly, your hands grip his shoulders as you gasp and he moans, pulling back and slamming into you again. The pace is slow, too slow, as he savors every feeling of your body under his. One hand is tangled in his hair, the other gripping at his bicep as you buck your hips up into his, trying to prompt him to move faster. “Please, Sam, please,” you whine, and he groans in response before picking up the pace, slamming into you in an almost animalistic manner as you both search out release.

“Fuck, Y/N, fuck, you feel so good,” Sam pants in your ear, pressing his lips to your throat. You moan, bucking your hips up to meet his thrust for thrust and clenching and unclenching around him. He moans loudly and his hips lose their rhythm as he desperately rocks against you, closer and closer to the edge. His fingers find your clit and rub fast and hard over it, trying to pull you over the edge with him.

You come at the same time, you screaming and clawing at Sam’s wide shoulders, him with a moan and a gentle bite to your shoulder and neck.

His head pulls back from your shoulder, and when he looks down at you, his eyes are full of love and adoration, a wide grin on his face. “How’s that for sweeping you off your feet?” he asks, panting.

You giggle, “Forget sweeping- I’m fucking floating.”

He kisses you deeply, his hand smoothing your hair back behind your ear. “I don’t want to run, Y/N,” he whispers, “I’m tired of running.”

You kiss him softly again and gently caress the side of his face, you can’t take your eyes off his- you’re lost in them, glad to have them finally looking at you and not turning away, “Then don’t run, Sam,” you say, “Let’s fight the urge to run together.”

“Okay,” he breathes after a minute, “Okay, let’s do it.” His lips capture yours again in a long, slow kiss. He still hasn’t pulled out of you, and your legs are wrapped around his waist, your hands holding his face to yours.

That’s when the door opens.

“Jesus!” Dean complains, and Sam pulls out and then rolls over, throwing the blanket over you to cover both from his view, “I leave you alone for five friggen minutes! Come on!”

“Sorry, Dean,” you mumble and Sam laughs.

Dean shakes his head, but he smiles and mutters, “Fucking finally,” under his breath as he goes into the bathroom to let the two of you get dressed.

“So how was she? Was it good?” he asks his brother later in the car when he thinks you’re asleep in the backseat.

“Dean!” Sam chides, not answering his question.

Dean laughs and claps his brother on the shoulder, “Well, hey, good for you. Took you long enough.”

“Yeah,” Sam shrugs, “Well, I decided to finally stop running. We can’t control what happens to us. I shouldn’t be too afraid to live, especially when at any moment we could die.”

“Yeah, that’s my philosophy!” Dean laughs, “So… she got any tattoos? ‘Cause I always imagined-”

“Dean!” you and Sam both yell.

He laughs, “Sorry, sweetheart, didn’t think you were up!”

You shake your head and smile.

Three months ago you never wanted to see these boys again. Three months ago you’d been ready to run. Boy, were you ever glad you fought the urge.


End file.
